


Witcher Lore

by withinmelove



Series: Home is Kaer Morhen [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Dynamics, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Love Confessions, M/M, No Sex, Partying, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Slice of Life, The Witcher Lore, Winter At Kaer Morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28214010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove
Summary: Jaskier begins to learn more about the other Witchers while he's staying at Kaer Morhen. They reveal both their lives as Witchers and the once human lives they led before the change.Better yet Jaskier begins to share even more domestic moments with Geralt seeing a more gentle, relaxed side to his Witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Home is Kaer Morhen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930036
Comments: 7
Kudos: 64
Collections: Discord Community Archive





	Witcher Lore

**Author's Note:**

> This has nothing to do with the story but I saw this Witcher/Animal Crossing fanart that I thought was just precious: https://highbeeans.tumblr.com/post/618871271123468289/so-geralt-did-you-get-julian-no-hes  
> I made sure to put in my doc of this fic the link so I'd post it lol.

Jaskier loves the temperate climate of the coast above all else. 

Originally, he had planned to go to the coast as he normally does during the winter months. He doesn’t like the heavy, wet snow or the fact that in winter’s chill, his fingers get so stiff he can’t bend them. Besides, he’d rather take clothes off than to put them on. But, for the sake of musical inspiration and Geralt’s companionship, Jaskier goes to Kaer Morhen with him.

Thankfully, despite the debacle of nearly freezing his fingers off, he makes a full recovery. 

What lingers in Jaskier’s mind isn’t so much the consequences, but Geralt’s protectiveness, the intimacy of naked cuddling by the fire, and the fact Jaskier can’t deny he is attracted to his Witcher. Granted, it would be difficult _not_ to be sexually attracted to Geralt. He’s a rugged, gigantic man with a square jaw and gorgeous white hair to die for. It’s a secret Jaskier will keep to his dying day, but Geralt’s gruff, throaty voice does wonderful things to his ears, not to mention the butterflies that stir in his stomach. 

Still...besides their naked cuddling in the name of warming Jaskier up, Geralt has never made any advances towards him. Which is rather disappointing, but...oh well. He’d have thought the time where he rubbed chamomile on Geralt’s muscular bottom would have _very_ clearly signaled his interest, but it seems not. Poo.

The lack of his love life with Geralt is not his primary concern right now, though. 

Today, he is interviewing two more Witchers. 

This time, it will be in the library. He’s learned his lesson from his mistake with Leah and nearly catching hypothermia from being outside in the dead of winter. Besides, he wants to make sure he’s warmed up to help enough in order to brave the cold with Olive and Violet - one of the few other female Witchers - with the chore of tree-tapping. Violet is a lovely, delicate woman. She is the smallest Witcher of the group, with onyx black skin. She stands even smaller than Olive, although Jaskier is well aware not to underestimate any Witcher. Size doesn’t mean everything. 

Jaskier smiles to himself at the thought. As the shortest sibling in his family, he knows that his own size has come in handy, being lighter on his feet than his six tall sisters. There is no possibility he’ll miss the chance to interview Violet. He wonders if he’ll have time to see all these Witchers spar. It’s quite the entertaining thought to imagine Violet and Geralt matched against one another. Oh yes, seeing Geralt in action--even in practice--would be an excellent sight. Jaskier focuses back on the present at hearing footsteps approaching the open library door. 

It’s Mek and Donsan. They are from two different schools, and the prospect of hearing about two different schools and Witcher perspectives is exciting.

“Hello there Mek, Donsan,” Jaskier politely greets, standing from his seat next to the fire. Mek smiles while Donsan nods respectfully. They take their seats on two stools, also close to the fire. Mek is tall but, unlike his stocky companion, he is a wiry, lanky type of muscular. Both of the Witchers wear their white hair long and loose. Jaskier wonders if all Witchers adopt this hairstyle. 

“So, tell me about yourselves. No need to skimp on the messy details out of politeness. I see and hear plenty from Geralt. Oh--” Jaskier pauses, remembering something else. “Could you tell me the differences in your schools? I’m afraid I couldn’t find much in the library about them.” He falls silent, watching them expectantly.

Mek and Donsan share a glance. Donsan nods and pulls his Witcher medallion from inside his shirt. On the front is a hissing snake. Jaskier wonders if the varying schools regard each other as rivals. 

“My school was that of Viper. A secretive one, annihilated after a disagreement with the king in Nilfgaard. We favor blades and stealth,” Donsan explains, pulling two daggers from the belt at his hips and offering them for inspection. Jaskier leans forward, the better to admire the snake scale design that glimmers dimly on the hilts. It raises the question of just how many blades Donsan has hidden on him. 

“I’ve heard Vipers had an enormous library!” Mek jumps in, eyebrows raised in question. “That your lot sought to understand the Wild Hunt,” he adds in an undertone, as if it’s a careful secret. This is all startling news to Jaskier. He never thought anyone would _study_ the Wild Hunt.

Donsan is silent for a beat, eyeing his boots before looking at them both. 

“They trained us to solve such phenomena as the Wild Hunt,” Donsan concedes carefully. Jaskier glances up from his hurried writing to see Donsan’s yellow irises trained upon his parchment. Hastily, Jaskier puts down his quill. No matter, he has an excellent memory. He’ll write this part down later. Alone. Unobserved. 

“How did you come to be a Witcher in the school of Viper?” Jaskier asks smoothly, moving along the conversation. Best not to let either get too antsy about divulging such intimate details of their lives.

Donsan tucks his medallion away along with his two daggers.

“I was a novice in a monastery. The Witchers of Viper often barted for lettered boys and girls from the monks and nuns. They pay the clerics back with protection from two Witchers. One for the men, one for the women, is the deal. In the winter I worked as a scribe for my Keep. Otherwise, it was off monster hunting as usual the rest of the year,” Donsan finishes. Jaskier shuts his mouth. Wow. 

Donsan looks to Mek, ready to move on. Every Witcher story is unique and Jaskier revels in that fact. He will reflect on this conversation for awhile. 

“My start was nothing so fancy as Donsan here. I was just learning my letters in the school village when a paying Witcher came through the village for the school of Griffin. Found out years down the road the family who had taken me in as an orphaned babe sold me to him.” Mek shrugs as if this doesn’t bother him. The lack of a smile belies his genuine feelings. “They were poor, and I wasn’t their natural born son, so I can’t blame them too much.” 

“Did your school have a particular focus like Donsan’s with the Wild Hunt?” Jaskier nudges.

Mek nods. “Yes, we focused on magic above all else. Signs to protect, attack, or put an edge to whatever weapon was on hand. They train Griffins to have enormous stamina to endure the drain on the body.” 

_Fascinating._ Jaskier has seen Geralt use Signs, but not for long amounts of time and only sparingly. Yet another subject to quiz his Witcher about. The best time to ask will be once they’re in bed after Geralt’s evening bath. Jaskier can’t wait to listen to Geralt explain this to him.

“Come watch us spar, bard. You can see the different schools in practice, if nothing else,” Donsan offers. 

Jaskier grins. “I will soon. But tell me.” Jaskier leans forward in his chair. “Are there any rivalries between the schools? Like Cat versus Wolf? Or Griffin and Bear? Is anyone from the School of Bear here?” Jaskier asks, suddenly remembering his earlier question. He shifts his seat, getting his quill ready. This is very important to know. There’s plenty of potential drama if the schools are rivals towards one another. Well... used to be. All the rivalries are likely in the past tense now. 

For the first time since the start, Mek and Donsan both smile. It’s a relief--Jaskier isn’t a man to be maudlin for long. 

“Violet is from the School of Bear. I’ve never met another. Have you, Donsan?” Mek asks, curious himself now. 

Donsan shakes his head. “No. I’ve heard their kind are loners. Savage towards _anyone_ outside of their keep. Even their own.”

Jaskier blinks at that news. This is the first he’s heard of outright aggressive Witchers. Sure, Geralt is gruff and frank, but rarely violent for the sake of violence. Right now, though, his hand is aching from all the writing. He’s still got more to write and already some general lyrics he’d like to play with.

“Thank you very much, Mek, Donsan. I will preserve your words in posterity through song!” Jaskier says as he stands to give them a flourishing bow. Mek chuckles while Donsan nods in answer.

“Thank you for listening to us, Jaskier,” Donsan replies ever so formally. Once they take their leave, Jaskier settles in to reread what he’s written so far. He’ll get to work on the lyrics after dinner, when his hand isn’t aching so much. The soft jingle of metal against leather alerts Jaskier to someone else. A look up reveals Geralt checking in on him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier grins, gesturing him in. He always enjoys having his Witcher around. Geralt comes in as bid, settling himself on a stool. He glances to the rather large fire in the hearth.

“Are you still holding the frostbite against Leah?” Geralt prods, inclining his head towards the hearth. Jaskier looks pointedly to the fire. 

“If she makes sure I have the biggest fire I can’t say no, can I, Geralt?”

Geralt shakes his head with a smile. This too is what Jaskier loves about being at Kaer Morhen. Here, Geralt smiles more, the tension holding his body tight eased. 

“Besides, _I_ wasn’t the one who yelled at her and called her names. That honor belongs to a certain Witcher.” 

Geralt has the good grace to seem slightly embarrassed. 

“Her error and yours could have killed or maimed you. Excuse me for being concerned for you. I’ve gotten rather used to my barker,” Geralt answers. Jaskier settles back further into his chair, pleased to hear that. Geralt rarely hands out compliments. 

“Why, thank you, dear Geralt. I try my best. But enough about me. I have questions for you,” Jaskier says, leveling an intent look at his Witcher. Geralt raises an eyebrow, curious. “First, have you ever met a Witcher from the School of Bear? I was told Violet is one and that they’re ferocious towards anyone they meet. Second, when will you be sparring? Donsan says this is something I need to witness.” 

Geralt nods as if these questions don’t surprise him.

“Likely tomorrow night for sparring. This afternoon and evening we will work on making syrup together.” Geralt repositions himself from the stool to the floor so he can stretch out his long legs. Without seeming to notice, he rests his right foot against Jaskier’s ankle. Jaskier is careful not to move an inch. “And yes, Violet is from the School of Bear. They are a solitary bunch--that, I can confirm. Beyond that, they avoid interacting with other Witchers. I’ve never come across a Bear Witcher besides Violet. She keeps to herself here, but she is polite enough whenever we’ve spoken to one another.” 

Jaskier nods, not even pretending to write what he is saying. He loves listening to Geralt speak--that baritone voice growling enthralls him. He’s been quiet too long, spacing off over Geralt’s voice, because when Jaskier looks up at him it is to find Geralt eyeing him up. A blush burns over him at his Witcher’s knowing smirk.

\----

Despite the secluded isolation at Kaer Morhen, one would be wrong to assume the castle is sedate. Jaskier is dispelled of the notion of quiet days nestled in a warren of Witchers. These are people used to living life on the move, with self-sufficiency vital to staying alive.

This is how he ends up tagging along when various Witchers are doing their chores. None of them seem to mind his company or constant chattering. It’s later the same day as he does his interviews with Mek and Donsan that he accompanies Sven, Leah, and Mek as they go out into the woods for the trees tapped for sap to make into syrup. 

It is nice to get out after a couple weeks of being shut inside. Since they settled in, the snow has been falling without cease. The hard crunch of snow is music to his ears. The icy wind biting his lungs and face is refreshing, if harsh. The heavy breathing of the others is the only sound in the muffled air. The yokes hamper them down the beam of it lying across the back of their necks with a bucket on each hook.

“It’s all so - wholesome and domestic. I never thought - I’d see a Witcher making syrup - let alone a group of them,” Jaskier pants into the quiet air as they trudge through the snow towards the tapped trees. Beautiful as the snow is, it seems permanently settled at knee height. Jaskier fondly recalls why he prefers the coast to a frozen winterland like this each year. 

Mek and Sven laugh at the comment.

“It wasn’t a sight seen before the fall of our schools. But times have changed. Hell, a Witcher from the School of Bear is here! A breed violent towards even their own kind,” Sven says, Mek and Leah nodding in agreement. 

Here, Leah takes over. “Besides, they teach Witchers to be self-sufficient from the start. You have to be when the sight of you scares near everyone. Unlike your sweet voice, Jaskier, there isn’t much to endear Witchers to the general population. Anyway,” she breaks off, waving away the heavy topic. “Syrup is a treat, and one I don’t mind working for.” 

The work is quick enough as they swap the full buckets of sap for the empty ones on the yokes. Jaskier is the last one loaded up. The walk back is hot and sweaty with two full buckets to haul, but he doesn’t mind it. Jaskier picks a popular work tune he’s heard peasants sing in the field to liven their journey home.

Leah and Mek can’t carry much of a tune but still sing along exuberantly. Sven has a good voice, although he doesn’t belt out like the other two. Still, they make a jolly group returning to the courtyard. Geralt, Olive, Violet, and Donsan meet them at the drawbridge. It is with ease that Geralt plucks the yoke from Jaskier, who is grateful for the help. 

“You’ll have this group trained to be songbirds soon enough!” Olive grins at Jaskier as she pats Seven, her husband’s, rump as he walks ahead of her.

Jaskier chuckles at that thought. He’d have quite the reputation as a bard if he trained all these Witchers to sing.

It turns out boiling the syrup is hot and many hours of endless work. Thank the gods it is Geralt, Violet, Donsan, and a vaguely familiar Witcher named Molly, who take over that work. Jaskier warms up inside in the kitchen, grabbing a snack, before he picks up his lute and heads back outside to entertain the others during their work. It pleases him immensely when Geralt calls out songs for him to sing. Jaskier doesn’t recall Geralt ever having done so. In the meantime, Leah, Sven, Mek, and now Olive head back to the woods to collect more sap. It seems this will be a multiple day process.

Jaskier sings for hours, until his throat is hoarse and his fingers too stiff with cold to play properly. By the time their whole group troops to the kitchen where dinner is waiting for them, night has fallen. The other Witchers with whom Jaskier is less familiar with had been the ones to prepare the food for everyone. Dinner is a quiet, contented affair, with most everyone dispersing quickly afterwards.

Gladly, Jaskier falls into bed after a bath. He’s happy when Geralt follows him soon after. Jaskier isn’t a man to lie to himself. He loves this time with Geralt--the fact he wakes up and goes to sleep with his Witcher beside him brings him sweet, tender joy. This close, Jaskier has had the extended opportunity to watch and listen to Geralt being deeply asleep. He now knows that Geralt snuffles, sighs, and mumbles. It’s rather adorable for the man who can be silent for entire days at a time. 

“Yes, Jaskier?” Geralt rumbles. Currently, his eyes are closed, but that apparently doesn’t stop him from knowing Jaskier is staring. 

The impulse overwhelms him, sudden and undeniable.

“I love you, Geralt.” Embarrassed heat burns over him. What in Melitele’s name? _Why_ did he blurt that out?

Geralt opens his eyes, golden yellow pupils faintly luminous in the scant moonlight. A thrilling image of his Witcher. 

“I love you too, Jaskier.” 

Those words knock the breath right out of Jaskier. He didn’t actually expect Geralt to respond, let alone say he loved him too!

Geralt grins at his silence, pulling Jaskier close to him so that from chest to knees they are pressed together. In his wildest dreams he hadn’t imagined Geralt being so expressive with his emotions. Well, besides being exasperated with him as usual. 

“I may not shout my feelings or every thought to the heavens, but yes, I love you, sweet Dandelion.” 

A blush overtakes Jaskier. Geralt has picked up the nickname that Olive gave him. She had said Jaskier’s singing reminded her of spring: warm and full of happiness.

“What’s got you so eloquent tonight? Usually you just grunt or growl in response.” Jaskier can’t help probing, even with his face inches from Geralt’s. He wants to kiss his gorgeous, strong-jawed Witcher, but his curiosity has gotten hold of him. 

Geralt sighs, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about this since I invited you to Kaer Morhen. Watching you these past few months, I realized I want this with you for always. Here at Kaer Morhen with you is the closest I’ve felt to home since before I was a Witcher.” 

For a few moments, Jaskier can’t speak. A confession of love from himself or Geralt wasn’t what he’d planned for. Honestly, he’d been hoping for snuggles and maybe a surprise kiss. This right here is fulfilling his wildest dreams and imagination. 

“I want to be with you for all my days, too. Every time we part, I want you at my side. Even when you’re off doing your Witcher things and I, my trade of singing.” Jaskier traces his hand along Geralt’s chest to his arm to cradle his elbow. “In the summer, let’s go to Oxenfurt. I want you to see my family. They’re a rowdy bunch, but it would thrill them to meet you. Both as a Witcher and my love.” 

He can’t see Geralt’s smile, but he can hear the amused huff he gives at Jaskier’s suggestion.

“Remind me how many sisters I will need to dance with?” 

Jaskier laughs. “My six sisters will dance, but they’ll also challenge you to feats of strength, agility, speed, and flexibility to test your mettle as a Witcher. They are warrior princesses! I was destined to be dainty and refined in our family.” 

Geralt hums in acknowledgment, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, silencing him. Jaskier melts into a delighted puddle in his arms as Geralt continues to scratch his scalp. He won’t dare interrupt this display of affection. After a few moments though, there is a change to Geralt, a stiffness to his body not there a moment ago. Jaskier opens his eyes to see Geralt’s faint glowing irises on him. It strikes him as eerie in this moment. 

“I don’t recall any of my siblings. Only Mother, as she brought me to the Witcher,” Geralt states.

Jaskier is stunned once again. He doesn’t know what to say to that besides useless platitudes. It seems tonight is his night for not knowing what to say. 

Geralt shifts against him, his lips brushing Jaskier’s forehead.

“It would be lovely to have family again,” Geralt murmurs. 

Jaskier kisses him gently. He breaks away to look into Geralt’s eyes, who smiles and kisses him again. It would be a joy to include Geralt into his family. He wants Geralt in his life for always. 

“It will be good for my older sisters to have a big brother to compete with,” Jaskier responds, prompting a low laugh out of his Witcher. 

\--

It’s early the following morning he’s awoken not by Geralt, but Violet. Jaskier is shaken awake far too early for his taste. He struggles to consciousness, rubbing his eyes to look up into the golden eyes of Violet flickering in the light of a lantern. A glance towards the shuttered window shows it’s before dawn, as the sky is still a flat darkness.

Jaskier groans. “It’s not even dawn!” 

Violet inclines her head, the beads in her braids clicking together. “The cows must be milked on _their_ time,” she answers. Jaskier grumbles, looking to Geralt, who is still asleep. Lucky bastard. Funny how Jaskier doesn’t see _him_ getting up before first light. 

“He will have his turn for milking, too,” Violet says, beckoning Jaskier to get up. Begrudgingly, he does so, gets dressed, and silently follows her through the castle, out across the courtyard, and to the stable. Violet hands him a bucket and a stool before demonstrating to him how to milk the cows.

“You’ll be a jack-of-all-trades by winter’s end.” Violet smiles as she supervises him trying to milk the cow. The motions feel odd, but at least the flank of the cow is warm against his face as he leans into her.

“Never thought I’d be put to so much hard work in my life,” Jaskier grumbles. He is not in a playful mood. He wants to go back to bed and get out of this biting, frosty morning air. Violet only smiles, not deigning to answer. 

It’s not until they are feeding the chickens that Violet speaks again. He doesn’t know where the chickens came from, but he will not question this gift of eggs.

“The beginning of a Witcher’s life is often a story of forced agony. I sought to be a Witcher. I longed for the schools and trailed a Witcher from the School of Bear. I didn’t want to be enslaved to the grinding poverty of a peasant. I would rather die then be worn away to nothing.” 

The suddenness of Violet sharing her story surprises Jaskier. He has never known any Witcher to have become one willingly. It is unheard of. 

“Even as a little girl you wanted that?” he asks, eyebrows raised. What kind of family life was she trying to escape from to pursue being a Witcher? 

“Mama spoke of Witchers lovingly. Their strength, their long lives, and their _freedom_. They are no peasants bound to a lord, who is beholden to so many others and above all to the kings and queens of various lands. I wanted what she spoke of.” 

The fierceness in those tawny irises glittering in the dim light of the lantern dare him to question her again. Violet’s eyes outshine the weak light.

Jaskier nods. He has enough self-preservation to understand not to push.

“A brave little girl to go in search of a Witcher school. I would think a Witcher of Bear wouldn’t be so easily followed. Is it true they are the most secretive?” he asks, curious.

Violet’s expression softens at his change in questioning. She nods and brushes down Jaskier’s pony. 

“They are. The school did not instill trust in humans. Our teachers knew with what savagery the humans would hate us. And as for the Witcher who took me with her, her name was Nerah. She was wounded; near death. She was exterminating some monster I don’t recall near the village. At moon-rise, Nerah collapsed at our door. Mama took her in without fear.” 

This is fascinating -- absolutely captivating. 

“Once she recovered, I begged Nerah to take me with her to let me become a Witcher. She told me I must keep up with her -- that she wasn’t in the habit of taking care of children.” 

The soft clucking of chickens and rustle of the animals in the stable are all that break the silence for a few moments.

Jaskier settles himself on the stool, ready to listen. “And the journey? The School of Bear?” he prods. There is no way a little girl could keep pace with a Witcher on the road, let alone through forests. 

Violet grins her sharp smile. 

“It was grueling, but I wouldn’t give up. For a Witcher, Nerah damn-near crawled so I wouldn’t fall behind. I only realized that after I became one myself.” Violet moves onto the next horse and Jaskier watches her, hunched into himself from the cold.

“I didn’t know schools took girls as Witchers,” Jaskier says. This earns him a sarcastic laugh from Violet. 

“Male chauvinistic schools would not take girls. The School of Bear was intelligent enough to know that man or woman can become a Witcher. There are advantages and disadvantages to the physiques of either sex when it comes to fighting. Nothing that impedes a Witcher, no matter what is between their legs.” She falls silent and Jaskier understands this is all he will get of her story for now. Without hesitation he stands, takes the milk pails, and heads to the kitchen. With any luck, he’ll be taught how to make something out of milk this morning. 

After breakfast, Jaskier cozies down in his and Geralt’s bed. He has all the furs in their room over his lap, settling in to do some embroidery. On the road he rarely has time or the energy to do this. For him, embroidery is a soothing, quiet winter activity. 

Today, Geralt stays within their room, which Jaskier smiles at. After his morning bath, Geralt spends the afternoon cleaning and sharpening his weapons, along with mending his clothes. For how focused Witchers are trained in combat, Geralt’s passable skill with a needle surprises Jaskier. 

The thought idly wanders through his mind as he works about making something for Geralt’s birthday. He is embroidering a dandelion onto the inside of Geralt’s money purse to pass the time. Maybe he’ll do something for Roach, although Jaskier’s not sure what, seeing as each mount changes at whim. 

“Geralt, when is your birthday? We’ve been here nearly four months with no birthdays, and I don’t recall once during the year you saying anything.”

“Because I don’t celebrate it. Mama never kept the date and nor did the Witchers. Even if I knew, I’m still older than you.” 

Jaskier blows a raspberry at his Witcher. 

“Yes, I’m well aware of that fact, Geralt. Anyway -- this is the perfect excuse to celebrate it now! It's a drab winter and we need a party to liven everyone’s spirits!” Jaskier declares. He likes the Witchers, but they’re not known for being party animals. He’s curious to see if he can change that. 

Geralt rolls his eyes, shaking his head. There’s no true exasperation in the look, though.

“You’ll need to convince the others of making the effort for the feast you’ll want.” 

Jaskier waves away Geralt’s words as he emerges from under the furs. It will be no problem. He is a pro in stirring up the proper festive mood. In fact, he’ll start right now!

“Leave that to me, old man,” Jaskier assures, walking over to his Witcher and leaning down to drop a kiss on Geralt’s lips. Geralt huffs, smiling against Jaskier’s mouth.

\--

The first one he goes to persuade is Olive. He imagines she will be easy to convince to agree to the party. Jaskier finds her reading in the library where she permanently resides when not doing chores. 

“Dear Olive, I have a proposition for you,” Jaskier announces when he enters the room. Olive raises her eyebrows as she grins in welcome.

“Ah? What is that?” she asks, putting down her book. Excellent. He has her full attention. He settles himself on the stool closest to the hearth. 

“It’s the fact that we all here desperately need a party. Oh, and I want to celebrate Geralt’s birthday because the party pooper doesn’t do so himself. The old sourpuss says he doesn’t even remember when it is!” 

Olive’s blue eyes sparkle with delight. 

“A party would be wonderful! I’m certain Sven and Leah would be willing to hunt for dinner. They could likely nudge the others to help. I’m not sure if we have enough flour for a cake... but Violet can help me think of something sweet to make.” 

Jaskier stands and sweeps her an exaggerated bow of gratitude, at which she giggles. 

“Thank you for your help, Olive. Let me know when the baking starts. I’ll help, and for the event itself I’ll provide the beautiful music.” 

Thankfully, the preparations come together smoothly. Other Witchers gladly join in to help. It’s obvious everyone is ready to break the daily monotony. Jaskier is pleased to say the party goes off without a hitch. The game that the Witchers hunt and trap for make a deliciously large dinner, and for dessert there’s even a tasty milk drink made. Jaskier, true to his word, provides the music. He sings jigs, drinking songs, love songs, and heroic ballads between bites of dinner and sips of beer. Hours later, his face hurts from grinning and laughing so much. 

The Witchers really know how to cut loose and have a good time. The kitchen heats to a roasting temperature with all the bodies packed in there. Soon enough, they move out to the courtyard despite the below-freezing temperatures. Indeed, Jaskier’s merry band of Witchers stick long torches in the ground to provide light, build up a small fire for him to warm his hands, and then dance and belt along to his music. Jaskier can’t help laughing at the bizarre gathering, watching the steam rising from their bodies, the flashing of golden irises in the flickering torchlight as everyone dances with mindless abandon. 

A few times, he catches Geralt’s luminous eyes in the whirlwind of Witchers. Jaskier’s heart nearly seizes up with tenderness to see him laughing as carefree as any Witcher can be. Jaskier plays until he physically can’t withstand the bone-deep cold of the snowy outdoors. 

“Good night, everyone! I retire for the evening to go warm myself!” Jaskier calls out. The gathering of Witchers clap and cheer him as he bows in farewell. 

He makes it to the kitchen (all this singing has made him ravenous again) before Geralt finds him. Jaskier glances back to see Geralt throwing him a pleased grin before slathering a slice of bread with butter and taking a bite. Geralt’s large hands gently grasp Jaskier’s hips, pulling Jaskier back against himself. 

“Thank you, Dandelion. Thank you for all of this,” Geralt murmurs, nuzzling the top of Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier smiles, leaning back into his tall, sturdy Witcher. How he loves his powerful body against his own. 

“No need to thank me for this, love. You deserve a party once in a while, too. Although I _will_ take gratitude in the form of kisses,” Jaskier teases, turning around so he can wrap his arms around Geralt’s broad shoulders. He loves Geralt’s answering grin and the way his eyes glimmer. 

“Your wish is my command,” Geralt responds, leaning in to give Jaskier exactly what he wants. 

It’s an excellent ending to the festivities.

**Author's Note:**

> My beta Sable edited this! Thank god to her for all the time she sinks into my fics tearing into the flaws and making this so much better. Especially my commas.
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